


Again

by Cultivation



Series: Ashes [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Breaking the Jedi Code (Star Wars), Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Council Bashing (Star Wars), Jedi Temple (Star Wars), Lightsaber Battles (Star Wars), M/M, Mentioned Kanan Jarrus, Mutual Pining, Obsessive Behavior, Pining, Pining Darth Maul, Romantic Angst, Touch-Starved, Trauma, Traumatized Obi-Wan Kenobi, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28584327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cultivation/pseuds/Cultivation
Summary: Obi-Wan finds himself in an unflattering position with the Jedi Council when he’s caught bringing lightsabers to Maul in the Spire.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Maul
Series: Ashes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064831
Comments: 15
Kudos: 81





	Again

**Author's Note:**

> Big 'ol thank you again to [skittykitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittykitty) for beating!
> 
> This fic COULD be read separately from the others, but I heavily recommend reading the previous two fics before diving into this one as there is a lot of emotional context left behind without them.

_“I want to duel with you.”_

Six stupid little words got him here, standing in front of the Council with relatively damning evidence thrown at his face.

Their first conversation becomes one of many. He finds himself traveling to the Spire enough to be admitted without question. Sometimes, Obi-Wan doesn’t even speak, content with just listening to Maul. Other times, it seems to be the reverse. He knows it is bad to rely on whatever this is. It is sure to end and fizzle out when the grief subsides and Maul’s trial begins. Fizzling inside him though is thick, complex, and intertwining emotions. They confuse him and intrigue him all the same. He doesn’t ever remember experiencing things in such extremes and wonders if this was how Anakin always felt. Constantly edging between uncontrollable feelings and controlling them.

Obi-Wan doesn’t move or flinch. Jedi Masters stare him down intently, some curious and some worried. In the ethereal glow filtering through, Plo Koon looks particularly remorseful; his uneasiness isn’t as hidden as his fellow Jedi. A pleasant ombre of colors surround the blaring sun in the sky as it starts to set outside. The scene gives him déjà vu. He expects to feel the presence of his master to his right and a little boy to his left. Instead, he merely feels the emptiness of memories and loss. His Master died at the hands of Maul, a fact that should still bother him. At the very least, he shouldn’t desire to be with Maul rather than amongst his fellow Jedi.

Yet their last encounter leaves his mind distanced from the interrogation at hand— and an interrogation it _is_. 

“Jedi are not held above the standards of citizens. You, of all people, should know this,” Mundi addresses him. Something deep within him curls in disgust at that snide remark. Referring to Ahsoka in such disrespectful ways— when the very same council wrongfully accused her— threatens to make his blood boil. Beneath the layers of fabric disguising his hands, Obi-Wan’s nails dig into his palms. Ki-Adi’s statement is anything but true.

“I have half a mind to expel you from the temple,” Windu says bluntly. “First, you retire your place on the Council and now you supply a known _Sith_ with a weapon. You have no respect for the Jedi Order. Skywalker’s death may excuse one misstep, but it does not account for this.” If it were a few weeks ago, before his regular meetings with Maul had been established, this comment might have very well left him faint and mute. Even still, it arises memories to surface.

_“Tell Padmé I’m so sorry. Tell her that I— that I love her. Tell her I love our child.”_

Instead, Obi-Wan stands his ground, scoffs, and narrows his gaze at Windu.

“To suggest my leaving the Council as disrespectful implies the Council demands respect, does it not?” he snaps. “I do not recall a time in which any Masters gave respect to Anakin.” Silence fills the room in an instant as Obi-Wan sees the effect of his outburst. His face, against his own volition, grows hot. He doesn’t regret it— not one bit. Obi-Wan is sure they must think lowly of him associating himself with a former Sith. It is a logical assumption on their part to assume Maul must be corrupting him. In many ways, he could say that is true— yet, not in the ways they believe. The dark side is simply a side of Maul. It is not the reason he stays much longer than he should and it certainly isn’t the reason he brought him a lightsaber. He doesn’t quite know himself. Obi-Wan is following feelings that he has no comprehension of. Perhaps it is Anakin’s impulsivity that finally rubbed off on him after all. Or maybe it’s his death that has given him the clarity to disregard the Council’s strict biddings. The silence is broken by the only presiding Grand Master.

“Wrong, it was,” says Yoda quietly. “But excuse for you, it is _not_.” 

“What is your goal with these dealings?” Plo Koon asks. “What do you seek to gain from him?” These questions are genuine and come from a Jedi he respects deeply. He cannot lie to him, even if it does not put himself in a flattering light.

“Understanding,” Obi-Wan answers. It’s the truth… but it’s not the _whole_ truth.

* * *

“Duel?” Obi-Wan asks. Maul holds his hands behind his back and straightens his posture; he looks rather like royalty. He certainly carries himself as such. The question isn’t as alarming as it should be. Maul wants him to sneak in weapons— presumably sabers— into a fortified prison complex under Republic jurisdiction. The buzz of the plasma barrier reminds him that this is not an easy request to make either. The consequences of which could remind the Republic to speed up his trial. Maul doesn’t flinch under Obi-Wan’s studious gaze. (In any other circumstance, he might find it admirable.)

“Yes, Jedi. I wish to duel you.” Quieter, he gets the impression the former Sith is not demanding. This is something much different than a demand. This is a _plea_. Obi-Wan swallows dryly. He could outright deny him. It’s an option, a rather smart one actually. Yet, the fiery eyes that ensnare his own are hard to get past. He can’t place it and he can’t fight it. The warmth and the comfort of them bring him a feeling that remains elusive. It sneaks under his skin and burns. It sneaks in his head and flares. But, that feeling brings him peace of mind. It’s a worrisome distraction— one that could easily consume him whole and take anything it wanted without mercy. Whether Maul is aware of this or not is a mystery. Obi-Wan sighs and allows his arms to fall to his sides. Despite himself and the obvious consequences, he allows him the hope.

“How do you presume I can bring lightsabers inside the prison?” Maul smirks— something he is doing more often in Obi-Wan’s vicinity— and crosses his arms across his chest.

“Mind trick the guard,” he responds. “I heard you’re quite good at it.” Obi-Wan hums, amused.

“Wherever did you hear that?”

“I shall not reveal my sources.” Maul contemplates for a few moments before continuing. “Well then?” Obi-Wan bites his lip.

“I—I am not convinced,” he utters. Maul takes a step closer to Obi-Wan; suddenly, it feels as if the cell itself has shrunk its size. The proximity of him feels like an invasion of the senses.

“What must I do to sway you?” asks Maul. His voice rumbles with desperation, so _different_ from pleading. The fire in his eyes rages silently. He feels caught amid the flames. Should he step another foot closer, Obi-Wan fears the hot embers will drift to his face— that the fire will lick his skin— and scar him. Words stick in his throat and the air in his lungs constricts. Only three words come to mind and he cannot find his voice to speak them. 

_Say it again._

Maul doesn’t tear away from the intensity of Obi-Wan’s fixed eyes. His lips part, as if he too cannot breathe. The buzz of the plasma door dampens until all he can hear is the sharp in and out of Maul’s breathing and his own. He thinks if he makes the step closer he might hear the rhythm of his two hearts beating. He wonders whether they’d beat faster or slower in his closeness and, if they did beat faster, what that would mean— if that would mean—

“Stop it,” Maul says gently. So softly, his voice carries throughout the cell and echoes against the walls. The cadence brings him back to reality. The air rushes back to his lungs and the sudden, overwhelming warmth of his presence fades just a bit. Yet, his eyes continue to burn an open contradiction. It still isn’t a full recovery from what just occurred— when his lungs burnt and his ears were selectively deaf— but it’s not quite as overstimulating. He wonders if Maul stepped closer to invoke such a reaction or if he had no thought behind it at all. How would he know Obi-Wan would feel such things? He simply wouldn’t. There’s no explanation for it. But he can explain _this_ ; the flush of his face and the tightness of his jaw. The heavy pangs of embarrassment flutter over him and, finally, Obi-Wan finds the words.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what overcame me.”

“It is quite alright,” he says distantly. A note of disappointment twitches across Maul’s face. The fire dissipates into a whimper of what it was moments ago. Barely a spark resides in its place. Obi-Wan cannot stand to see it— will do anything to light it. To start a wildfire. To wipe out the klicks of forest and fauna burrowed and strolling. To see the powerful blaze consume him and the world with it. Whatever it would take to get the inferno to rise once more and swallow Obi-Wan in its comforting warmth.

“I’ll do it,” he mutters. The spark lights the fire dim but alive nonetheless. 

* * *

“Understanding what exactly? What’s to understand from a _Sith_?” Agen Kolar inquires. Obi-Wan represses the urge to shudder. 

“Perhaps he gives me answers this Council cannot,” he speaks calmly. Windu shifts in his seat, hand over his mouth. Silently, Obi-Wan is thankful for his restraint. He is entirely certain whatever he wanted to say would’ve been gut-wrenching at the very least. “A Sith— Maul’s Master— came into power within our watch and, if given the chance, would have wiped every single Jedi from existence. I do not understand why no one on this Council finds issue with this. Preventing such an outcome from repeating itself should be on the forefront of everyone’s minds and yet, you sit here, questioning my conduct while I take necessary measures to ensure his trust.” This might have been a decent excuse on Life Day,— when he had no explanation for visiting Maul other than loneliness— but now it rings false. The Council (simultaneously surprisingly _and_ unsurprisingly) doesn’t pick up on the difference.

“Right, Obi-Wan is,” speaks Yoda. “Naive, we have been.” Windu turns to him, incredulous. 

“Not knowing our enemy only makes us vulnerable to another attack. Who is to say we will not fall to the next?” Plo adds. Cessation of whispers occurs where only quiet contemplation fills the void. In the silence, Obi-Wan thinks of how he will describe this conversation to Maul (if he is ever allowed to speak to him again). He imagines he’d find the situation humorous. Or maybe he’d believe what his fellow Jedi seem to believe right now. He couldn’t exactly tell Maul why he _really_ came there. Even explaining it to himself feels nauseatingly complicated and nonsensical. How does one describe in sensical terms how Maul dulls the sharp edge of grief with merely his gaze? Therein lies the catch; it cannot be done with any sense at all. Windu finally drops his hand to the arm of the chair.

“If what you say is true, Kenobi, you will have gained my respect.”

* * *

There is no plausible reason for this. Being caught could jeopardize his place in the Order and Maul’s trial. It’s utterly absurd. He’d have to clear his mind of this once he left the Spire. Perhaps even wash himself of it too. His skin itself feels tainted with the presence of the sabers hidden in his robes. He sighs heavily and stares up into the dark blanket of glittering stars and two moons. Entering would be easy as security was aware of him. He came here too often for his own good. He trudged through the layers of snow. For now, it is only bitter and cold. There is no blizzard and no wind; it is _almost_ beautiful. If it weren’t for the imposing monolith less than a klick away, it might just be beautiful.

His footsteps follow a familiar path inside of the complex. Unfortunately, once inside, he catches the unwanted attention of a residing Jedi Master, Depa Billaba. Her dark eyes bead into his own with unrefined scrutiny. Obi-Wan doesn’t know her formally. Informally, he remembers her presence on the Jedi Council up until the Clone Wars. Qui-Gon never spoke a word of her character though, nor did the pair ever spend any time with her. Beside Billaba, a boy stands. His eyes are a brilliant green and a Padawan braid drapes against his small shoulder. Distantly, he can recall teaching him something but for the life of him, he cannot remember what his name is. The Padawan looks at him curiously and, for a brief moment, Anakin comes to mind. Obi-Wan’s neutral expression falters and his heart beats in his throat. His muscles tighten and his knees feel weak. The image of his body slowing and his eyes growing empty floods into his head, skin burnt by lightning.

“ _Tell Obi-Wan I— I failed him.”_

He swallows and slips away from their prying eyes. Maul seems more than a suitable distraction right about now. Obi-Wan doesn’t stop until he arrives in front of the officer at the entryway. Mentally, he has not prepared to mind trick the guard or talk to him whatsoever. He takes in steady breaths and smiles faintly. The officer smiles back at him brightly.

“Master Kenobi,” he greets. “Maul, I presume?” There is a cheerfulness to his voice that threatens to make him shiver. Obi-Wan gives him a small nod. He isn’t going to enjoy this one bit. “Any weapons on you today?” Channeling into his feeble-mindedness with a wave of his hand, he replaces the words in his head as he instructs them aloud.

“You don’t need to check me for weapons. You will turn off the security measures until after I return.” His eyes trace the blank, slackened officer’s demeanor.

“I don’t need to check you for weapons. I will turn off the security measures until after you return.” Instantly, the plasma field shuts off and Obi-Wan slips through steadfast. It won’t be long until someone notices. He might as well drop the sabers off instead of using them. Perhaps he can suggest this solution to Maul. The duel can wait. But… that would require a level of trust Maul doesn’t deserve. The fact that Obi-Wan even considered letting him hold onto his lightsaber and… _Anakin’s_ is jarring. It stops him dead in his tracks at the front of the barrier between himself and Maul. He questions what he is doing and what drives him to do it constantly— now is no different. The only difference is he has done something disturbingly wrong just to please him. Is this the grooming pattern of a Sith? To make someone feel indebted? To make one rely on the other in their time of need? Obi-Wan’s intuition hasn’t detected anything to warrant such suspicion, but logic raises a red flag high in the air. 

Then, he is reminded of what happened during their last encounter. There was a moment in which Obi-Wan would have allowed Maul to do almost anything and he had backed away. Whatever the reasoning, he hadn’t taken the advantage. What he could or would have done if he had taken the advantage is up to Obi-Wan’s very poor imagination. He still isn’t quite sure why his mind went to the stretches it did. He questions why he wondered what his hearts sounded like and why it made him feel so utterly alive to think of them racing within his chest as he drew nearer. The very memory of it leaves his mind buzzing with possibilities and the consequences of actions he could never take. He isn’t sure what these actions are; his mind pictures Maul staring at him— peering into his very soul and seeing the conflicting, confusing spur of rolling emotions— and accepting them. Words of affirmation in light of the discovery. 

_“It is quite alright.”_

Obi-Wan shudders beyond his control. Just then, the plasma barrier falls and he steps cautiously through the doorway. Maul stands with posture upright and feet apart. His horns have grown longer and Obi-Wan wonders whether or not he should have noticed such a thing. He struggles to empty his mind of the scenario as he greets him.

“Kenobi...” Maul speaks. His tone is full of expectation and promise. “Have you brought what I asked?” Obi-Wan doesn’t answer, merely revealing the sabers hidden behind his robes. The plasma barrier regenerates. Maul eyes Anakin’s saber with sudden hesitancy. It flows freely through the Force. “Is that—”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answers. He cannot stand to hear his name now. Not here, where he is supposed to forget. “It’s alright, really. I’ve been keeping it for his children when they come of age.” Maul nods cautiously as Obi-Wan offers it out to him. 

“I shall wield it with honor,” he mutters. It’s a promise he didn’t expect to hear from Maul. The weight of it in his hands is unfamiliar and unsettling. He looks over his shoulder and towards the red barrier. 

“Perhaps, we should duel another time. I’m afraid I may not have been as careful as I should have.” The moment the weight of Anakin’s saber leaves his hand, Maul silences. Obi-Wan turns back. The Force sings with darkness then light. Maul’s eyes are screwed shut tightly. He has seen this once before with Quinlan Vos on Nal Hutta during the war: psychometry. Yet, unlike the trail of clues leading to an elusive Hutt, whatever Maul seems to see leaves him speechless. When he opens his eyes and meets his inquiring gaze, he appears stricken with conflict. Before he can stop himself, Obi-Wan’s curiosity gets the better of him. “What do you see?”

“Your apprentice…” Maul mutters. “He had much darkness in him. Much passion.” Obi-Wan swallows, mouth suddenly drier than the Tatooine desert. “Held just beneath the surface. But there is so much light held within this saber. So many emotions. He… wanted you to be proud of him.” He could collapse.

_“Please_ — _please, Master. Give him my saber. Let him know… everything.”_

_No, no, no— stop this._

“Let’s duel,” Obi-Wan blurts. He prays that he won’t have to explain himself.

“Very well…” Maul doesn’t say a word further; there’s an unspoken understanding between them, established through the frenzied rush to distraction. They take their respective positions. Igniting their lightsabers, the red-lit room glows a faint purple. The blue saber looks strange in Maul’s hands… Anakin’s saber. 

_“Padmé! Put the ship down!”_

_“Anakin! Don’t let your personal feelings get in the way.”_

Obi-Wan makes the first move, swinging impulsively. 

_“We have a job to do!”_

_“I don’t care! Put the ship down!”_

Clashing against Maul’s saber, Obi-Wan pulls away and stalks back.

_“You will be expelled from the Jedi Order!”_

_“I can’t leave her!”_

With every strike, Maul meets it with more precision and focus. If only Obi-Wan could focus—

_“Look, I know I did some questionable things but I did what I had to do. I hope you can understand that.”_

The memories racing through his head makes his movements raw and unrefined. His normal forms don’t come to mind, nor does anything with thought. He was so naive— he was so ignorant. He uses offensive moves when he should be defensive. That is the way of the Jedi. And oh… what a _Jedi_ he is. 

_“You lied to me. How many other lies have I been told by the Council?”_

_Stupid— how could I have been so blind?_

Obi-Wan finds his muscles constrict and his knees buckling under the seismic pressure of it all. 

“ _And how do you know that you even have the whole truth?”_

_I don’t. I never did._

He falls to his knees, saber kicked from his hand and hair fringing in front of his eyes. Maul towers above him, blue plasma aimed at Obi-Wan’s throat. He heaves out ragged breaths as he slowly peers beyond his mechanical feet. The former Sith’s chest rises and falls fast. Then, Obi-Wan meets the fiery irises staring him down. Surging flames engulf him. They light and burn his body— from toes to fingertips— in an alluring blaze. The powerful emotions he felt through their duel subside into the back of his mind; they can wait. This— this _cannot_. Maul pants, sweat glistening against his tattooed skin and sliding against his face. He wonders if it feels cool or if it is just as hot as the flames reducing him to ash. Obi-Wan wants to reach out and touch it… to feel it, to know that this is _real_ and tangible. That the feeling ruining his mind and boiling his blood is shared. That the emotions are shared with just as much vigor. Maul lowers and disengages the saber. His lips part as he holds out a hand. Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate to take it. He stands unsteadily, gazing deep into the inferno. He’s instantly aware of how close they are.

Before Obi-Wan can quite register it, he feels the finger tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Your hair is getting longer,” Maul murmurs. For an otherworldly moment, he lets his finger linger. Cosmic, electric fire burns like lightning. His heart thunders in his chest. The touch _is_ real— more _real_ than Obi-Wan has ever felt in months. Then, all too fast, he pulls away. A fraction of time leaves him speechless, breathless, and stumbling. Maul cannot quite make a full rebound. He looks shocked with himself, conflicted with what occurred, and contemplative of what he is supposed to say next. Silence floods the cell. Obi-Wan doesn’t dare break it. He cannot bear to supply him with words; he can barely find the words himself. Maul rests his hand beneath his chin and steadies his breathing. “I’m— I apologize—”

“ _Don’t_.” Obi-Wan refrains from finishing— _do it again_ — what he wanted to say. Maul eyes him strangely, positively ghostly. “My hair was long... before the war.”

“Was it now?” Maul asks shakily. He is still regrouping scattered thoughts. Obi-Wan gives him the benefit of the doubt. “It looks… good on you.” He represses the urge to chew on his lip. Maul appears lost in the aftermath of senses. It’s a mutual feeling but one very eye-opening to observe in him. Obi-Wan rakes his gaze down to the saber that resides in his hand. Somehow, he cannot be bothered with the memories that plagued him during their duel. Maul catches where his attention lies and offers the lightsaber back to him. As he grasps it, their fingers do not brush. (Obi-Wan is assured that this was an intentional move by Maul.) A lull hushes the cell once again. Maul is deep in thought, shuffling between words. Then, he seems to find the right ones. “Skywalker valued you more than any other Jedi. He did not fall to the dark side because you were there to catch him. Take pride in it, Kenobi. Not every Master has been as tested as you have. You did not fail him. You made him a better Jedi.” 

Obi-Wan nods silently— absentmindedly. It is the oddest thing indeed to hear encouragement from Maul. It feels like an elbow to the face and— and a finger brushing back hair. It means much more than anyone else... for no reason at all. The Council didn’t understand they were the problem. Padmé couldn’t move past the absence Anakin left behind. Ahsoka’s words and Rex’s praise just felt meaningless. They were all false to him, an echo of living in Anakin’s shadow. They wouldn’t want to hurt him. Maul has every reason to inflict pain and pass judgment and yet… he judges that Obi-Wan has done right. 

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan mutters. It bounces across the cell and rings loud in his ears; it shakes the walls and rattles Maul too. 

“Let’s do this again soon, Kenobi,” he rumbles.

Just then, the plasma barrier lifts and Obi-Wan strolls through it. His face is hot with the events that occurred as he leaves hurriedly. Cloak trailing behind him, he paces forward with electric adrenaline. His finger mimics the action of Maul, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s _idiotically_ absurd. Obi-Wan passes through the security measure without any acknowledgment of his surroundings. A terrible mistake it becomes when Depa Billaba and her Padawan greet him, lightsabers unhidden.

* * *

“This is a warning, Master Kenobi. We will not tolerate another misuse of power. It is not the Jedi way,” Mace speaks. 

“Dismissed, you are,” Yoda says. 

“Thank you,” he rushes. Obi-Wan nods curtly and bows briefly as the stares follow him to the doorway. 

He walks through the Temple with no real destination in mind. On his way, he passes by many Jedi who call out in greeting. He meekly nods his acknowledgment. The sunset on Coruscant is almost always beautiful and he goes out to see it— to clear his mind of the day’s disturbances and elations. Maul had spoken highly of him, had touched him, and had thought his hair looked _good_. Stupid, frivolous remarks that make his thoughts spiral. Despite the good weather, Obi-Wan wishes he was on Stygeon Prime. He wishes to see what Maul will do next— what he might get away with. He has words for it now, albeit witless ones: speechless, breathless, stumbling. Obi-Wan swallows harshly. He knows this feeling— he recognizes it now— because he’s felt it before. Acutely, he could compare the feeling to how he felt with Satine. Truly treacherous is the thought of her memory concerning Maul. He killed her, without mercy, to hurt Obi-Wan. It is a delicate line drawn in the sand between betrayal and acceptance. And with each visit, sand dusts the line. One day, he might just blur it all together.

He must remind himself that Satine loved him and he— he could have loved her. Maul— he is something else entirely. Obi-Wan grows shaky at the thought. To calm himself, he remembers the feeling of Maul’s finger against his skin, touching him. 

He shudders at the memory, the feeling, and the irony of it all.


End file.
